


Not a Horror Story

by wordyanansi



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 18:05:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5215457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordyanansi/pseuds/wordyanansi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a really shitty six months, and Clarke thinks it's time she figures out what she actually wants out of life. So she leaves the big city, a string of shitty relationships, and doctoring behind to move to a "quaint town" (realtor speak for small town at the ass-end of nowhere) and buy a "charming fixer-upper" (aka a run-down weird murder house by a lake). </p><p>Bellamy Blake, owner of the local hardware store, thinks she's crazy. So does Raven, her best friend. But Clarke doesn't believe in ghost stories...</p><p>At least, she didn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not a Horror Story

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ladyugh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyugh/gifts).



> This was kind of inspired of inspired by my semi-regular movie dates with my awesome best friend ladyugh. We watch a lot of horror movies. And I can kind of see Clarke refusing to believe in ghosts and moving into a weird murder house, ignoring all the warnings.
> 
> Disclaimer: I promise that, as the title suggests, it's not a horror story.

 

Clarke figures it only makes sense that she skids to a stop at the feet of Bellamy Blake.

 

Full disclosure: running out of her weird (possibly haunted) murder house in the middle of the night and then falling down a hill wasn’t exactly the highlight of her life. But it’s not like it was typical. But what were the options? Stay in the potentially haunted house? She thinks not. That’s how bitches die.

 

Also in the interest of full disclosure, that asshole had been smirking at her knowingly since she arrived in town a month ago.

 

_“Are you sure you know what you’re doing there, princess?” Bellamy asked, arms folded against his stupid, broad chest, smirking. Clarke glared at him over her shoulder and just snatched the closest tube of silicone sealant that came with a gun._

_“I’ve got it under control, thanks Bellamy,” Clarke grinds out, feeling like an asshole. Because of course, he’d managed to sound polite and condescending at the same time._

_“That’s not the best product for high water usage areas. Better for window frames,” Bellamy comments, and Clarke tries not to grind her teeth audibly. She forces a smile as she turns to look at him._

_“Thank you, Bellamy. My shower leaks. What would you recommend?” Clarke manages, and she almost sounds sincere._

_“You know,” Bellamy says, basically swaggering toward her. “I could always come over and give you a hand some time if you need some help around the house. It is pretty rundown in places.” Clarke’s hands become fists by her sides. Because he’s like this with everyone, and shits her off. Not that she’d appreciate this level of insinuation anyway. She’d come to the backwater of god knows where to get away from her stupid love life bull shit. And then here’s the town fucking lothario trying to… whatever the hell he was  trying to do. He smiled and handed her the right sealant._

_“I think I’ll be fine,” Clarke says tightly. She probably needs to remember he’s also trying ot be genuinely helpful. And then, because he is just like this and if she’s going to live here, she should at least be nice to people, and because it’s the truth, she adds: “I like the work. It’s… satisfying.” Bellamy gives her a look she can’t quite read._

_“Yeah, DIY can be like that. But it can also be dangerous. Use a spotter for ladders and chainsaws,” he says, and the lothario is gone, replaced by someone who cares a lot about the weird single woman who moved into the murder house near the lake. Clarke’s not entirely sure how to react, so she takes the sealant off him, and takes a step away from him._

_“Stop going big brother on the customers!” a female voice yells, and Bellamy sighs, smiling fondly._

_“It’s a legitimate thing, O,” he yells back, exasperated. Clarke’s been in town for all of two weeks, and she’s pretty in to how adorable the Blake siblings are with each other. Even when they’re screaming at each other._

_“She’s a grown ass woman,” Octavia shouted back, making her way to them from the register. She rolls her eyes at Clarke. “Ignore him. DIY is great. I knocked down Lincoln’s apartment wall with a sledgehammer last week and it was amazing.” Clarke laughs as Bellamy snorts._

_“Yeah, and then who did you call because you busted through a bunch of wiring and a water pipe? I legitimately thought I taught you better than that,” Bellamy asks. Octavia shoves him, and Bellamy dutifully rubs his chest as though he’s really injured. (Clarke’s pretty sure she’d be actually rubbing her chest in pain if Octavia had shoved her like that, but again, stupid, broad chest)._

_“Well, I’m not at the ladder stage yet. But I have a friend coming next week for a visit, so I’ll make sure I wait until I have company,” Clarke tells them. “Thanks for the protip.” Bellamy looks like he’s vaguely confused, and Octavia looks interested. To stop the onslaught, she waves the sealant at them. “So I’ll just be taking this then.” Octavia gives Bellamy a meaningful look._

_“Why don’t you check Clarke out,” Octavia says in the most unsubtle voice ever, and Bellamy’s jaw hardens (does the man have a soft line?). “I’m taking my break.” And then she flounces (who actually flounces?) out the back. Bellamy turns on his heel and wordlessly heads to the register, leaving Clarke to follow him, kind of confused at what had just happened._

 

“So, I’d ask if you were okay, but… I gotta say, evidence is to the contrary,” Bellamy says, looking down at her with a smirk. Clarke glares up at him, and wonders how much dignity she can actually muster in this situation. She slid down a muddy hill, pretty sure her ankle is sprained, and there are definitely twigs in her hair. Not her finest moment. She attempts to pick herself up, but the moment she puts weight on her ankle she collapses again, slipping onto her back in the mud. In Bellamy’s defense, the smile falls off his face and it’s replaced with a look of genuine concern as he kneels down beside her.

“Seriously, Clarke, are you okay?” he asks, offer her his hand. Clarke finds herself taking his hand and letting him help her sit up and support her.

“I think I sprained my ankle,” Clarke sighs. “Pretty sure actually.” She looks down at her left ankle, and it’s almost twice the size of her right one. “Not broken, thank goodness. My mother would have a field day with that.”

“And you can just magically tell that without an x-ray?” Bellamy questions. Clarke rolls her eyes, shifting to get a better view of her ankle. She prods it a few times with her free hand (why was he still holding her hand?).

“I’m a doctor. I should know. Sprained. Fuck,” Clarke says. Bellamy drops her hands and basically does the definition of a double take.

“You’re a doctor? Then why are you living in the weird murder house? Why aren’t you paying for repairs from a contractor? Why aren’t you, you know, doctoring?” Bellamy asks, like she’s somehow betrayed him. She scowls.

“You sound like my mother. And, like, most other people. Doctors are assholes. All of them. I don’t want to be an asshole. So I’m figuring shit out at the weird murder house,” Clarke snaps at him. “I’m an adult, I can make choices.” The last part is definitely petulant, and Bellamy almost smiles at that.

“I’m guessing there’s a story there,” Bellamy says gently, like he wants to hear it, but it’s okay if she doesn’t want to share it too. “So, why are you in what I assume are your pajamas, sliding down a hill in the middle of the night?” Clarke sighs.

“I’m pretty sure the weird murder house is actually a weird haunted murder house. And I’ve seen horror movies. Blonde bitches die. Bitches who run up stairs die. Bitches who stay in the house die. So I figured that when the spooky shit got a little real, the safest option was just, you know, GTFO and reconsider in daylight,” Clarke explains, defensively. Bellamy’s looking at her like he’s not sure if she’s actually crazy, or if her house is actually haunted. It is, after all, known by everyone as ‘the weird murder house’.

“I thought you didn’t believe in ghost stories?” Bellamy says after a moment. Clarke scowls.

 

_“So, you’re new,” the guy says, leaning towards her. Clarke can smell the whiskey on him, and it reminds her of something that feels vaguely safe. So she’s instantly on her guard. Finn had felt safe. Lexa had felt… if not safe, then something like it. Her mother used to make her feel safe. Doctors are assholes, she reminds herself, and she raises her eyebrows at the (very attractive) guy skeptically._

_“Yeah, just moved into town,” she says, and her entire body language is screaming ‘please leave me alone’. But tall, dark, and freckled just nods, considering._

_“What are you planning on doing in the middle of nowhere?” he asks, like it’s a joke. And it probably is to the locals. Which she will be._

_“Fix up the house, mainly. And then, I don’t know, figure something out,” Clarke says vaguely. The guy almost drops his drink on the bar and his eyes widen._

_“You didn’t… Please tell me you did not buy the weird murder house by the lake. That house is… I don’t know, cursed or something,” he tells her, and she feels like he has to be joking. Who tells someone their house is a weird murder house straight up? Clarke glances at the bartender, who is now taking a very keen interest in the conversation._

_“Well, the house is by the lake. But the advertisement called it a ‘charming fixer upper’ not a ‘weird murder house’,” Clarke states. She takes another sip of her drink. She seems to be attracting a crowd, and she’s not entirely sure if some Hot Fuzz ‘for the greater good thing’ is about to happen and she’s going to get murdered, but she kind of hopes not. She’s lived in cities or suburbs all her life. Small towns kind of freak her out, but she assumes that’s because she needs to stop watching horror movies about small towns._

_“So you didn’t know about the murders?” the bartender asks, leaning in to the conversation. He’s slightly incredulous, but he is also wearing a pair of goggles on his head, so he’s probably not the best judge of sanity. Clarke sighs._

_“Nope, knew about the murders. That’s why it was so cheap. And explains why there is a door I need to replace because some freak literally chopped an entrance through it,” she admits. The music is still playing, but it’s somehow become the only noise in the bar._

_“You bought a house, by a lake, with a history of murders, in a small town in the middle of nowhere that has an axe murderer door mutilation?” a really attractive girl standing next to tall, dark, and freckled asks in disbelief. Clarke shrugs and takes another pull of her drink._

_“I kind of don’t believe in ghost stories. I mean, just because bad shit happened a few times in a place just means there are shit people. I’m really more worried about weird axe murdering inbreds than getting possessed. Which is statistically more likely,” Clarke says, humour lacing her tone, looking around the crowd of people gathered. Some look to be taking offense, but mostly, people are laughing._

_“That house is for real cursed,” the girl tells her. “Like, normal people move in and then kill each other. The last family that lived there just, like, packed their shit one night and left and Pastor Kane still won’t go down there. But my brother and I run the local hardware store. So you should probably get used to us. I’m Octavia, and this asshole is my brother Bellamy.” Octavia holds out her hand and Clarke shakes it, smiling._

_“Clarke,” she introduces herself. “But I’m pretty sure that’s the plot of Amityville Horror.” Octavia laughs, but Bellamy shakes his head._

_“The house is haunted. There can not be that many deaths in a place and it not end up haunted,” Bellamy says. “Later,I was going to be smooth and ask if we were going back to your place or mine. But now, we’re definitely going back to mine,” he adds, leaning forward again. Clarke pulls a face and Octavia hits him._

_“Don’t be gross to the new girl. I like her,” Octavia says. Bellamy rolls his eyes._

_“You have terrible taste in people. No offense,” Bellamy says. Octavia hits him again, and he rubs his arm. “Ow.”_

_“Lincoln is great. He’s nice. And if you could stop being a dick for like five minutes, you’d know that. Also, you agreed to keep Monty and Jasper.”_

_“I’m Jasper, what are we saying about me?” the bartender asks._

_“Apparently that I agreed to keep you. I distinctly remembering agreeing to keep Monty because he’s brilliant, embarrasses Miller, and makes great moonshine. I said nothing about Jasper,” Bellamy points out. Jasper shrugs him off._

_“We’re a package deal. Hetero life partners,” Jasper explains to Clarke. “You know, I could make you a drink I know you’d love.” Clarke’s wondering if bad flirting is just something people do to new people in small town bars, but Octavia throws a napkin at him._

_“Gross. I thought I said I was keeping her. That means you idiots can’t screw it up. My new friend Clarke and I are going to play pool now. Bye losers,” Octavia says, linking her arm into Clarke’s and dragging her away from the bar. “They’re harmless. Okay, they’re actually pretty sweet. They’re just idiots. But then, aren’t all men?” Octavia’s saying. Clarke’s not sure how she’s going to keep up, but she does._

 

“I don’t believe in ghost stories,” Clarke tosses at him. “And while I’m waiting on my sassy person of colour friend to arrive and give me sage advice about the situation, there is something not right in that house.” Bellamy grins.

“Am I your sassy person of colour friend? I can give you advice,” Bellamy says, and it’s the first time he’s offered to help that didn’t sound like it might also have been an innuendo. And, in his defense, he is a person of colour, and if he’s not sassy, then he’s definitely sarcastic. But, he’s no Raven.

“Nope. But you are welcome to cameo in the role of knight in shining armour for an hour and help me do something about my ankle,” Clarke offers.

“I’ll take it,” Bellamy says, and wraps his arms under hers, helping her to her feet. Clarke winces as she gets up, and feels vaguely bad for smearing his white t-shirt with mud. She tries not to think about the fact she’s wearing the world’s shortest shorts and a singlet. When she’s on her feet, or more accurately foot, Bellamy braces her against him, tucking her into his side for support. Clarke ignores the fact he smells like cinnamon and whiskey and feels like she fits there a little too well. She focuses on the mud, the ankle, and the fact that she’s about to go back to a weird murder house with a limp.

“So… is there a plan here, or are we just going to stand around until a first aid kit drops out of the sky?” Bellamy asks, and Clarke feels like everything is normal and could actually be okay.

“I suppose you should take me back to my place. I have a good med kit there for emergencies. And there are also clothes that aren’t muddy,” she says. Bellamy pulls back to look at her incredulously.

“You’re an insane person. Potentially suicidal. I’m taking you home with me and you can sleep on my couch with your foot elevated. I have a first aid kit. And, even better, I don’t have ghosts,” Bellamy replies. Clarke makes to protest and pull away from him further, but he scoops her up.

“Nope, not up for discussion,” he says, and starts carrying her in the direction of his house.

 

Clarke says nothing for a moment, shocked. This is the kind of thing you read about, not the kind of thing that happens in real life. He’s been carrying her for a few minutes (and not breaking a sweat, damn son), when she speaks.

“You do realise this is technically a kidnapping,” she points out. Bellamy snorts out a laugh.

“What happened to knight in shining armour?” he asks. Clarke laughs.

“Your armour is dented.” Bellamy grins at her.

“Shut up and let me take care of you,” he says. “Besides, there is no way I’m letting you go back to weird haunted murder house in the middle of the night alone when you can’t run away. If you died I’d feel guilty forever.” Clarke huffs a little, but doesn’t say anything, letting him take the lead.

 

“Why did you come out here, anyway?” Bellamy asks after a while. “It’s not exactly rated in top places to live in the state.”

  


_“You’re a doctor, you’re not an asshole,” Raven points out, making herself comfortable on Clarke’s bed. Clarke gives her a pointed look, and Raven sighs. “Okay, you’re kind of an asshole. But you’re the good kind of asshole. Like me.”_

_“I just need to… what’s a less corny way of saying ‘figure out who I am’?” Clarke replies. Raven scoffs._

_“There is no non-corny way of saying that. You’re such a cliche, Griffin,” she says, but there’s no heat it in it. Clarke leaves the packing and flops down on the bed beside Raven._

_“I’m just… sick of all the shit. I’m sick of my mother, and Finn, and Lexa… and I don’t think I even want to be a doctor so much as it just kind of happened,” Clarke says, gesturing vaguely._

_“Yes, eight years of university just kind of happened,” Raven deadpans, and Clarke shoves her. “You could Eat Pray Love here, you know. You don’t need to move to a small town at the arse end of nowhere,” Raven suggests. Clarke grins._

_“Aw! You’ll miss me,” Clarke teases, and Raven shoves her._

_“Shut up. Yes, fine, I will. But it’s your whole life. My abuela always said, ‘wherever you go, you take yourself with you’. And I just… what are you really looking for, Clarke?” Raven asks, strangely serious for a change. Clarke smiles._

_“I’m looking for… a future,” Clarke decides. “And I want to do it my way, in my own space.”_

_“So you’re buying a lake house with a history of murders in a small town sight unseen? Do we need to watch The Skeleton Key again?” Raven asks. “You’ll be out there, alone, with no sassy black friend to tell you to check yourself, and some creepy groundskeeper is going to switch bodies with you.” Clarke laughs._

_“Well, you’re welcome to come and visit me and tell me to watch out for ghosts,” Clarke says._

_“Dios,” Raven says, rolling her eyes. “Well keep packing then. Go find yourself in a possessed house that wants to claim your youth for an immortality ritual by sending the darkness after you.”_

_“Oh my god, I wish I was Anna Paquin,” Clarke says, getting off the bed. Raven nods._

_“I’d totally do you if you were Anna Paquin,” Raven agrees, and Clarke throws a scarf at her._

  


“The usual cliche reasons, I suppose,” Clarke says, trying not to think about the fact her ankle has started throbbing.

“That’s not technically an answer,” Bellamy returns. “And I’m carrying you home.”

“Chivalry doesn’t demand answers,” Clarke points out. “Why are you here?”

“This is where the car broke down,” he says simply. “Your turn.”

“Wait, are you serious? ‘This is where the car broke down’. That’s your legit reason for living here?” Clarke asks in disbelief. Bellamy does something like a shrug, which is very impressive considering she’s in his arms.

“You first,” Bellamy replies. Clarke sighs and closes her eyes.

“It’s dumb. I fell in love with this doctor I worked with, and then I found out I was the other woman. So I dumped his ass, and he kept asking me out anyway. And then I dated this other doctor I worked with, and she was just… insane. Then I found out that my mother knew about my father’s cancer and didn’t do anything about it.  And everyone I worked with was crazy and my boss was just, like, the embodiment of a messiah complex. And then I just thought, what the hell am I doing with my life? So I thought about what I wanted to do and bought the weird haunted murder house on the lake and here we are,” Clarke explains. Bellamy stops walking about halfway through the story and let’s Clarke stand for a moment.

“That is the most insane thing I’ve heard in a really long time,” he says after a moment. “There’s a lot of information in there.” Clarke shrugged, pressing her lips together.

“It was a shitty six months,” she explains. “I needed out. And I like it here. Your turn.” Bellamy shook his head, processing for a moment before he spoke.

“We were always kind of transient and then my mother died and O’s dirt bag dad was trying to get custody of her but not me. So we got in Nanay’s old car and drove until we found somewhere we liked or the car broke down. And then the car broke down. And we’ve been here for over a decade now,” Bellamy explains. Clarke knows there’s more to the story. Aside from the things she’s heard around the edges of town, she’s also heard this kind of story from teenagers who were dodging state homes and child protection when she was working in Emergency.

“I know you probably think you were just doing what had to be done, but I still think it was pretty brave of you,” Clarke says softly, and Bellamy looks shocked for a moment, and then he smiles at her.

“Thanks,” he says. “Are you ready to go again?” Clarke nods, and he scoops her back into his arms and continues to walk.

  


The Blake home is not what Clarke expected. She’s not sure what exactly she did expect, but it wasn’t this little brick house with a white and blue trim and rose bushes that made her think about sweet grandparents. She loves it. Bellamy lets her stand while he fiddles with the door, and when it opens, the entrance is polished floorboards and white walls and a red rug. He looks at her, trying to get a read on her response, and she manages a smile.

“Labour of love?” Clarke asks, and he runs his hand through his hair as though he’s nervous.

“Yeah,” he admits, touching the door frame lovingly. “Brick is brick, but inside… we’ve spent years making this place ours. And Lincoln did the landscaping,” Bellamy adds, not even through gritted teeth. Clarke swallows thickly as her ankle throbs aggressively again.

“I really need some aspirin,” she manages, and Bellamy’s eyes widen into a panic.

“Oh my god, sorry. I just… right. The living room is just through here,” Bellamy says, moving to pick her up again, but she draws back with a smile.

“I think I can limp that far if you help me,” she tells him, and he winces again, and tucks her into his side to support her. When they reach the living room, he moves to deposit her straight onto his couch, but she resists. Bellamy looks at her, concerned.

“I’m covered in mud, I’m going to ruin your couch unless you put a towel down first,” she points out, and Bellamy rolls his eyes.

“Yes, this thrift shop couch is irreplaceable in my heart. I lost my virginity on this couch,” Bellamy tells her, dry and sarcastic. Clarke pulls a face.

“Yeah, now I’m definitely going to need that towel now,” she says with a laugh, and he is gone for thirty seconds before he returns with a towel, and the first aid kit. She sits down thankfully and pokes at her ankle again. It sends waves of pain up through her leg, and she bites down hard to prevent herself from making a noise. The runners she’d slipped onto her feet before making her escape weren’t laced tightly, but removing it was going to be excruciating. When she looks up, Bellamy is hovering. Big brother mode, she thinks to herself.

“Is anyone else home?” Clarke asks. He looks slightly awkward at that.

“Uh, no. O is spending the night at Lincoln’s, but if it makes you uncomfortable I can give her a call?” Bellamy offers, awkward, caring, and she’s starting to accept this is who he actually is. Affection and caring wrapped up in suggestive behaviour and sarcasm. She shakes her head at his words.

“No, I’m just about to scream, and thought everyone should probably be prepared,” Clarke tells him, and then starts unlacing her shoe. After a moment, Bellamy kneels in front of her and bats her hands away, continuing the unlacing.

“So this is going to hurt a lot, huh?” Bellamy says quietly. Clarke hums her agreement, still steeling herself. “Do you want me to take it off or do you want to do it yourself?”

“Uh, if you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it,” Clarke replies, awkward now at this kindness.

“Fast or slow?” Bellamy asks, his hands positioned at the heel and toe of her shoe, looking up at her. Clarke takes a breath (she’s not breathless because of the look in his eyes, she’s not. She has a sprain, okay, it’s fucking painful).

“Fast as you can’t but try not to jostle the joint too much,” Clarke instructs, and he nods, returning his attention to her foot.

“On three,” he says. Clarke locks her jaw. “One… two…,” Bellamy continues, and then he yanks off her shoe quickly before he says three, and Clarke lets out a strangled cry through her gritted teeth.

“Fuck,” Clarke manages after a few moments, staring at the ceiling and trying not to cry. She can feel Bellamy staring at her, and she lowers her head to offer him a tight smile. “Thanks. Good work.” He looks a little pained, but she doesn’t really have space for his problems right now.

“I’ll uh… I’ll got get you some aspirin,” Bellamy tells her, and then makes a retreat to what she assumes is the kitchen.

 

Once she’s got herself under control again, she reaches down for the first aid kit and rifles through it to find the compression wrap. She’s just finishing the wrap when Bellamy comes back with aspirin, whiskey, water, and an ice pack on a tray. Despite the pain she can’t help the smirk the image provokes, and he scowls at her.

“I’m just trying to be helpful, okay? If it was me, I’d want the whiskey. But you’re a doctor and you’re probably not meant to mix this stuff,” he says defensively. Clarke shakes her head.

“Give me the whiskey. Thanks Bellamy, for everything,” Clarke says, grabbing the aspirin and the whiskey. He puts the tray down on the coffee table.

“I was going to grab you some of O’s pajamas, but I’m actually scared to go in her room. It’s a disaster zone,” Bellamy admits, and Clarke snorts, picturing the clothes flung everywhere. “So I brought you a pair of my sweats and a t-shirt.” She smiles gratefully.

“Thank you, again. I’m going to eternally owe you one at this point,” she sighs.

“I assume you don’t need help getting changed?” he asks, smiling suggestively. “I am, of course, willing to take one for the team here and help you out.” Clarke rolls her eyes.

“All I’m going to say is that you would not get my a-game right now, but I think I can handle it,” she replies, sarcastic, and Bellamy leaves again to let her get changed.

  


_“So what you’re saying is that you’ve got a crush on the asshole at the hardware shop,” Raven says over the phone. “Just to confirm.”_

_“No, I’m saying there’s an asshole who runs the hardware shop, my house needs lots of hardware shop supplies, and I want to punch him,” Clarke replies, irritated. She’s got the phone on loudspeaker while she holds paint samples to the wall. Nothing’s feeling right, and it’s frustrating her._

_“You like assholes,” Raven points out. “Historically.” Clarke glares at the phone._

_“I resent that. Finn came across as not an asshole. Wells was a little bit over possessive, but probably not an actual genuine asshole,” Clarke snaps. Raven snorts derisively._

_“I love how you’re not even trying to pretend Lexa wasn’t an asshole,” she says. Clarke rolls her eyes._

_“Yes, fine, Lexa was an asshole,” Clarke admits._

_“And so was Finn. I mean, to us anyway. I’m still not convinced he was a bona fide all around asshole. Just, you know, a prick,” Raven says. Neither of the colours are quite right, and Clarke sits on the floor, staring at the blank wall._

_“Okay, well, hardware store asshole is just an asshole. His sister is nice though,” Clarke says. “And I have officially accepted that this house will forever be known as the weird murder house. I think I’m starting to belong here a bit.”_

_“I have twenty bucks on you sleeping with hardware store asshole. It sounds like he actually cares about you,” Raven says. “But can you not fit in there and come back here because you actually live in a house known as a weird murder house and that is not right. You’re way too pretty to be living in a murder house. The pretty blonde ones die first.”_

_“I like the weird murder house. It has charm. And I like fixing it up. I replaced the axe murderer door last week. It’s looking less like it’s haunted now,” Clarke says. “And I think he’s just… like that with everyone.”_

_“Do you listen when you talk? Dios. Okay, I’m coming in two weeks. And if it looks like a weird murder house or I feel cold spots or something, I’m rescuing you and bringing you back here. Also maybe if you haven’t slept with hardware store asshole, because that feels like a missed opportunity,” Raven tells her. “Besides, what are you going to do out there when the house is finished? It has no resale value because it’s a weird murder house and you’re going to lose your mind from inactivity as well as demon possession.” Clarke sighs, she’s had similar thoughts._

_“I still don’t know. I feel like I should GP or something but, honestly? I kind of like not being a doctor. I just haven’t figured out the next step,” Clarke admits, laying down and staring at the ceiling._

_“Well, maybe try and remember the last time you were doing something that made you happy?” Raven asks. “Lord knows I love building shit from shitty engineer schematics.” She makes it sound like that’s not a truth, but it is, and Clarke knows it. She closes her eyes and  thinks for a moment, and remembers her father pinning a picture of the roof of the sistine chapel under his desk, and laying side by side, staring up at it. She opens her eyes and sits up._

_“Rae, I gotta go,” Clarke says, searching around the floor for a pencil._

_“Is there a ghost? Do you need to abandon the house? Is it an inbred townie come to turn you into a wax sculpture?” Raven asks. Clarke rolls her eyes again._

_“No, I have an idea about what I’m going to do with my life. I’ll talk to you soon,” Clarke says, and then reaches up to disconnect her phone without waiting for Raven’s goodbye. She finds a pencil stub under some newspaper and starts sketching on the wall. She wonders briefly if the ghost gave it to her; if it’s a nice, misunderstood ghost like Casper. The thought fades as she continues to sketch._

  


When Clarke wakes up the next morning, she’s disoriented for a moment, and then she remembers where she is. Bellamy’s house. In the morning light coming through the curtains, she can see the furniture definitely wasn’t the priority in this house. But the floors are stunning, and she’s pretty sure the wood is recycled, because it looks old and loved. The light fixture looks almost like a chandelier, and the wall with the fireplace is exposed rock. Now that she’s seen it, she can’t imagine Bellamy living anywhere else. She’s sitting up, and trying not to injure herself further when Bellamy sticks his head around the corner.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” he asks, and she shakes her head. “I’m just making breakfast. Coffee? Eggs? Aspirin?” Clarke smiles thankfully, but she can’t help feel like it’s a little awkward, being here in the morning, just the two of them.

“Uh, just toast, if you have it. But yes to coffee and aspirin,” she says. She looks around for a moment and realises she doesn’t have her phone with her. Surprisingly, not a thing she grabbed when shit got real. And Raven was coming today.

“Shit! What time is it?” Clarke asks, standing up in a panic and forgetting about her ankle. She falls to the floor in series of strangled swear words that might sound like a scream. Bellamy’s at her side in moments, but she’s already half way back to standing.

“Woah, slow it down there,” he murmurs in a way that feels way too comforting. “You okay?” She swallows thickly, both at the pain and at the strange emotions.

“No. Rae is coming today and I’m not home and I forgot my phone when I left last night,” Clarke says as he maneuvers her back on to the couch.

“You could just ask to borrow my phone you know,” he points out. “No need to go and stand on your ankle.”

“Yes, because I, like all people in today’s society, have everyone’s phone numbers memorised,” she says sarcastically. “But if I can log in to facebook, I should be able to contact her that way.”

“Okay, I’ll get you my laptop. Stay on the couch, Clarke,” Bellamy says, and she knows it’s meant to be vaguely menacing, but truth be told it’s just endearing. He returns with the laptop open to facebook and not signed in, and then heads back into the kitchen to make breakfast.

 

Clarke: So I don’t want to hear about it but I’m not home. I had kind of a dramatic night. When are you getting here?

Raven: You totally banged hardware store asshole. Should I call him by his proper name now?

Clarke: Didn’t bang up. Went for an impromptu jog at night, sprained my ankle, he rescued me. It was mainly very unsexy.

Raven: Did he carry you home? Did he tend to your wounds? He totally carried you home.

Raven: Wait. The weird murder house is haunted, isn’t it?

Raven: Oh my god I warned you

Raven: You’re gonna die

Raven: Are you actually alive and not a ghost?

Clarke: Calm down

Raven: What’s hardware store asshole’s number? I need verbal confirmation

Clarke: The Terminator can imitate people’s voices. Pretty sure some spirits can too.

Raven: Griffin I s2g give me the damn number

 

“Hey Bellamy,” Clarke calls out, knowing this is a fight she won’t win. He sticks his head back around the doorway and raises his eyebrows. “Do you mind giving me your phone number so Rae can call me? There is a mild panic I’d like to short circuit. Apparently I’m the weird murder house has killed me.” Bellamy laughs.

“Yeah, I can see how that could happen,” Bellamy says dryly. “We did try to warn you.” But he gives her his phone number anyway, and moments later, it’s ringing. He tosses it to her to answer and goes back into the kitchen.

“Hi Raven,” Clarke manages to get in before the ranting starts.

“Oh my god, what happened? Was there a little girl ghost? Little girl ghosts are the fucking worst. Or was it more Freddy Krueger in your dreams stuff?” Raven asks. “And who doesn’t pick up their phone when they’re running for their lives? I mean, for real, how are you going to call a priest or, I don’t know, a taxi to take you to a hotel. Have horror movies taught you nothing?” Bellamy comes back into the room with jam on toast, a coffee just the way she likes it (how did he even know that?) and two pain killers. She swallows them down quickly and offers Bellamy a grateful smile. He goes to leave again, but she waves at him to stay.

“Okay, I will tell you what happened, but I’m putting you on loud speaker so Bellamy can hear too,” Clarke says. “Because I’m only saying this once.” Bellamy gives her the one minute gesture so he can grab his coffee.

“Hi hardware store asshole!” Raven greets him happily on loudspeaker and Clarke closes her eyes for a moment. She just knows Bellamy is grinning.

“That’s what she calls me? Good to know. Okay, story time, Clarke,” Bellamy instructs. Clarke sighs and opens her eyes.

“So, you guys were right. I think. Buying a weird murder house was a bad idea,” Clarke begins.

“Fucking finally,” Raven mutters.

“Told you,” Bellamy adds. She glares at Bellamy for a moment.

“If you interrupt, I won’t tell you the story,” Clarke says. “But it was really weird. I was heading to bed and I heard this weird noise coming from downstairs. So I grabbed the golf club from under my bed and went down to investigate.”

“You keep a golf club under your bed?” Bellamy asks incredulously.

“Horror movie mistake numero uno,” Raven adds.

“And then I got down to the kitchen and something just didn’t feel right. So I just, start doing a check of all the doors and windows to make sure nothing is rattling and I felt this thing touch my back but there wasn’t anything there. And then there was this weird noise. And I tried the kitchen door to get outside and it was jammed which, I literally just fixed it a), but also b) this is a classic horror movie trope. And then I thought I saw someone, or like, a shadow of someone. So I’m freaking right out, and something is still touching me. I banged on the glass and it wouldn’t break, and the weird shit is still happening so I run back at the way I came and thank fuck the front door opens. And so I just keep running because I choose life. And then I fell down a hill and Bellamy rescued me and I have sprained ankle.” Clarke looks at Bellamy and then at the phone, neither of them are saying anything.

“Are you shitting me?” Raven asks. “You go downstairs to see if the house is getting broken into and you don’t take your fucking phone? Jesus Christ, Clarke. Do you have zero self preservation skills?” Clarke blinks for a minute.

“That’s the take away here? Not that my house is haunted. The fact I didn’t take my phone with me?” Clarke asks, incredulous.

“Well, yeah. In this day and age,” Bellamy points out. Clarke sighs.

“Well given your cavalier reactions to this, I’m assuming you’re both going to be okay with going back there today,” Clarke says.

“Dios! Como puedes ser tan estúpido? Puto infierno,” Raven rants.

“Pakshet! There is no fucking way,” Bellamy says at the same time.

“If we could all stop swearing in languages I don’t speak,” Clarke says. “And remember that the house is where all of my belongings are. Including my phone.”

“You can get new shit,” Raven says. “Is it worth dying for?” Clarke sighs.

“Well, aside from Dad’s watch,” Clarke admits. “But it’s not the point. It’s my house and we’re all just going to have to get along. Or, I don’t know. Call a priest.”

“We don’t have a priest,” Bellamy reminds her. “Just Pastor Kane. And we were not joking when we told you that Pastor Kane does not go near the weird murder house anymore.”

“Even the pastor doesn’t go near the weird murder house, Clarke! Remember the Skeleton Key. Listen to the POC sassy friend. Save your ass. Do not go back to the house,” Raven says.

“Rae, you know I’m not going anywhere without Dad’s watch,” Clarke states. “And I’m pretty sure it’s a friendly ghost. Mostly. I mean, I’ve been there almost a month and this is my first encounter. Maybe it was a full moon or something.”

“Well, the last people who lived there were assholes,” Bellamy says after a moment. “They left their dog behind.” Clarke feels scandalised at that, because who leaves a dog behind? Dogs are the best.

“What happened to the dog?” Clarke asks.

“Who cares about the dog?” Raven asks.

“Um, everyone with a soul,” Clarke points out, and then looks expectantly at Bellamy. He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly again.

“I uh, I rescued him and made sure he was healthy, and then Lincoln took him because he didn’t like the hardware store and he could stay with Lincoln all day,” Bellamy said. Clarke wasn’t sure she’d ever been more attracted to anyone in her entire life. He smells like cinnamon, cares about dogs, and was a sarcastic asshole. Which, of course, made her furious at him, because that is the only logical response to this situation. She tried not to scowl.

“Right, so, what about the murders?” Raven asks. “Because I did the research. There were a lot of fucking murders in that house.”

“An abusive husband got knifed by his wife, bank robbers killed each over greed, and a kid drowned in the lake because her parents didn’t get the memo about drowning,” Clarke rattles off. “I mean, it’s hefty coincidence. But it’s not like they were all killed after twenty eight days by the oldest male after her moves into the basement.”

“You forgot the axe murder suicide,” Raven points out.

“Global financial crisis,” Bellamy says, like that explains everything, and it kind of does.

“Look, I’m not going to say weird shit doesn’t go missing occasionally, or there’s never any noises, and some of the rooms don’t fit together properly. Okay, all true. But I’m pretty sure it’s fine,” Clarke says.

“Fine, but like, wait for me, okay? I’ll be there in an hour,” Raven instructs, and then hangs up without saying goodbye.

“Is she always like that?” Bellamy asks. Clarke grins.

“Yeah. She’s great,” Clarke says, and then she remembers she’s mad at him and glares at her ankle.

  


_“You do realise that being fiercely angry at someone because you like them makes literally no sense,” Octavia tells her._

_She’d knocked on Clarke’s door three hours ago, grabbed her wrist and dragged her to the car. It’s girls night, apparently. About a hundred years ago the town had quarterly poker nights for the menfolk, and the women would do some needlework or something. Poker night kind of stuck, but it had turned weirdly competitive and had a plaque someone made about twenty years ago. The women, on the other hand, had tried several different things, from knitting, to their own poker night, and a book club. But in the end, they just couldn’t pass up the opportunity to drink a lot of alcohol and bitch about men. Clarke had been in town about a week, and Octavia had apparently been furious that she hadn’t been there. And, now, here she was, with a bunch of women she barely knew, complaining about how the plumber that came from the next town over pissed her off because she was nice and attractive (the local plumber, Stirling, was not setting foot in her weird murder house, which seemed to be an ongoing thing)._

_“I don’t want to like her! Or anyone. Especially nice people,” Clarke ranted. Okay, so the fifth whiskey and coke might have been ill advised._

_“Nice is overrated,” Monroe agrees from beside her. “I like a little asshole in my partners. It’s the Darcy effect.”_

_“No! I want a Mr Bingley. He’s such a sweetheart,” Harper sighs._

_“How come nobody ever wants Frederick Wentworth? He left when he was asked, brooded, and then came back and wrote the best letter ever?” Fox from the cafe demands. It’s the first time she’s ever heard Fox express an opinion on anything, and she’s a little shocked. When she’d served Clarke last week, she’d practically mouthed the words ‘can I take your order’._

_“Because he’s a broody asshole who thinks he’s better than everyone,” Monroe says._

_“And what’s Darcy then? Oh right, a broody asshole who thinks he’s better than everyone,” Octavia says sarcastically. “Why are we even talking about this? Austen men are weird.” Clarke wonders if it’s a truth universally acknowledged that all women have had a conversation about Austen men at least once in their lives._

_“All men are weird,” Clarke says._

_“Yeah, but you’re gay,” Harper says. “I bet you think all women are weird.” Clarke pulls a face._

_“Uh, no. Bi, actually,” Clarke corrects. There’s a moment of silence._

_“And you didn’t sleep with Bellamy? Girl, what is wrong with you?” Roma asks, incredulous._

_“The man is fine,” Harper agrees._

_“I love my wife,” Monroe says. “But for a man, he really knows his way around a -”_

_“CAN WE NOT?! I thought we agreed that this was a not talking about Bellamy space?” Octavia cries, cutting her off. “That’s my brother!” She shudders. Clarke pats her shoulder consolingly._

_“It’s okay, Tav. I’m only pissed at him because he’s actually an asshole. And he implies I can’t do things. I can do all the things,” Clarke says adamantly. And Octavia laughs and leans into her._

_“He only does it because he cares, but don’t tell him I told you. He’s probably very Darcy that way,” Octavia whispers. The other girls have moved on to talking about best romance movies, and Clarke’s not sure how much she can contribute to that conversation, but she’s also pretty drunk. And so is Octavia. It’s a really weird town wide tradition, this gender segregated gathering, but it’s nice too, Clarke thinks, looking over the thirty or so women, gathered into small groups in the park. It’s probably exactly the kind of thing she came out here for._

_“I want to win the pie contest this year,” Octavia says into Clarke’s shoulder. “But Bellamy banned me from the kitchen five years ago, and Lincoln only lets me use the microwave. But I feel like I could cook a pie.” There’s an annual pie contest. This town is ridiculous._

_“Baking is science for hungry people,” Clarke mutters back. “I have a science degree. I reckon we can work something out.” Octavia grins up at her._

_“You just want to prove Bellamy wrong, don’t you?” she asks. Clarke laughs._

_“The look on his face is going to be amazing.”_

  


They probably look like the three least capable ghostbusters ever, Clarke thinks. Bellamy had called Pastor Kane and she’d flat refused to go back to the house, which did kind of freak Clarke out. But, hey, there could be reasons. That are logical. Raven had arrived shortly after them, and they’re all kind of standing at the front steps staring at the door. Clarke’s on crutches Bellamy had kicking around from when Octavia was sixteen and broke her leg, and they’re a little uncomfortable, but at least she’s mobile. And hey, a crutch can double as a weapon. Raven looks Bellamy up and down.

“Well at least he’s ripped. I’m not sure how helpful that’s going to be if the ghost is non-corporeal,” she says to Clarke. Clarke shrugs.

“He drove me over and he wanted to come in. I figure we can leave him for dead as a sacrifice if the ghost turns out to need one,” Clarke replies.

“I’m right here. And I’m pretty sure I can outrun both of you,” Bellamy cuts in. “So are we doing this or what?” There is a pause as they all go back to staring at the door. Clarke goes to move forward, and then stops.

“Something’s off,” Clarke says. She looks to Raven and then Bellamy. “Like, we need to… I don’t know…”

“Something,” Raven agrees, staring at the door. “This is really fucking weird.”

“I’m going to call O,” Bellamy says. “So when we all die mysteriously she knows that this house needs to be demolished to save lives.” The house groans.

“It does that,” Clarke says unconvincingly. “Sometimes. It’s old. The wind.”

“That’s a fucking haunted house. You bought a fucking haunted house,” Raven says. “Bellamy come here, I want to compare skin tones. The darkest one dies first in the movies.”

“Racist,” Bellamy says dryly, but then his sister answers. “Hey O. We think Clarke’s house is actually haunted and we’re going in. If we don’t make it out you should probably demolish the house.”

“Are you serious? Oh my god! Lincoln! Clarke’s house is legit haunted. We’re going to be there asap, don’t go in without us!” Octavia says loudly enough that they can all hear her.

“She has a deathwish,” Bellamy says, staring blankly at his phone. “I legitimately thought I raised her better than that.”

“You always say that,” Clarke comments, staring at the door. “But I think the house is happy she’s coming.”

“How can the house be that sentient? Maybe it just wants to possess her,” Raven says. “I’m less and less convinced this is a good plan. And more and more convinced I’m definitely going inside. This must be why people go back in the movies. Curiosity killed the cat, you know.”

“And satisfaction brought it back,” Clarke says, moving forward. “Okay, I’m ready.”

“Shouldn’t we… I mean, if the house is sentient, shouldn’t we say something first?” Bellamy asks awkwardly. Clarke shrugs, and then makes it up the stairs to the front door. She keeps hold of the crutch under her arm and places her palm on the door.

“Hi house. I’m Clarke. I live in you. Could you please not kill us?” Clarke tries. But it doesn’t feel right. She looks back at Raven and Bellamy who are staring at her in disbelief.

“Dios. This is how we die,” Raven comments. “I thought it was going to be a work-related accident. Probably an explosion.”

“DIY accident,” Bellamy agrees, nodding. “Or accidentally in a woodchipper or something. Trip and fall in.” Clarke shakes her head.

“You’re both idiots. I don’t know why I like either of you,” Clarke says.

“You love me,” Raven reminds her. “You tolerate him.” Bellamy looks like he’s going to say something, or like he wants her to say something, but she just shrugs.

“Come on, you didn’t think weird murder house was how you were going to die, did you?” Raven challenges.

“I always kind of figured I’d go Final Destination style,” Clarke admits with a self-deprecating laugh. “Parked at a stoplight behind a truck full of steel pipes and then I get skewered.”

“You are such a weirdo,” Raven says.

“She bought the weird murder house. Sane people don’t buy weird murder houses,” Bellamy points out. Clarke gives him the finger.

 

And then she… feels something, is the only way she can describe it. She looks down at the door handle, and she knows it’s time. So she places her hand on the knob and turns. The door is unlocked, which feels surprising even though she knows she didn’t lock it last night on her way out. It swings open without a creak, which, again, she’s been doing a lot of DIY and it shouldn’t, but it kind of felt like the situation lacked gravitas, suddenly.

“Well, that’s kind of… anticlimactic,” Raven comments after a moment. “Kind of like Finn.” And Clarke snorts with laughter, because it’s so inappropriate and accurate at the same time.

“Who’s Finn?” Bellamy asks.

“Our ex boyfriend,” Raven replies. Bellamy looks between them for a moment and shrugs. Clarke’s pretty sure he thinks it was a weird polyamory situation, and she really doesn’t care enough to correct it.

“Okay, I can do this,” Clarke says, standing in front of the open door, staring down her hallway. She’d just finished sanding the floors and she’s kind of pissed that her crutches are probably going to scuff them. Bellamy walks up the stairs to stand behind her. She looks at him for a moment.

“Someone’s going to have to carry you out when the ghost comes for you,” he says. “And Raven is a rake.”

“Do you mind? Raven is a badass,” Raven says, stomping up the stairs onto the verandah. “And Raven ain’t afraid of no ghost. You hear that ghosts? I’m not afraid of you.” The house groans again. And Raven takes a step back and gives a side nod. “Okay, maybe I’m a little afraid of you.” The house makes a different groan that sounds satisfied.

“Your house is definitely sentient,” Bellamy says. And then, “Nice work on the floors.” Clarke grins.

“Thanks. You were right about the sanding pads. Made the corners way easier.”

“Right?” Bellamy agrees. “Are you doing a stain or a polish next?”

“I’m thinking stain. I love them, but I think a stain could enhance the cherry in it, you know?” Clarke comments.

“Are you guys literally talking about doing DIY on the sentient weird probably haunted murder house?” Raven asks. “Y’all are literally crazy.” Clarke shrugs.

“I like this house. I like DIY. I keep telling you,” she says. And Raven shakes her head.

 

They’re distracted by a car rolling up the drive. Clarke thinks this house probably hasn’t had so many visitors in a really long time. It’s Octavia and Lincoln in his ute, with Dog (yes, Lincoln had called the dog ‘Dog’), and Octavia barely lets him come to a full stop before she flies out.

“Do not tell me you guys were planning on going in without me?” she demands. “I told you to wait. And you are?” Octavia adds, staring at Raven.

“Raven, best friend,” she says. “You?”

“Octavia, his sister. That’s Lincoln. And Dog,” Octavia says, gesturing behind her. Dog was running in circles around a tree gleefully and Lincoln was walking slowly towards them.

“That is a huge man,” Raven comments.

“Gentle giant,” Octavia corrects.

“I was pretty sure he was going to crush her accidentally,” Bellamy says. “But apparently that’s not a valid reason for my disapproval.”

“None of your reasons were valid,” Octavia throws at him, and Clarke’s inclined to agree. “So are we doing this? Do we have some rock salt or a smudging stick or something? Or a bible? One of us should have a bible, right?”

“We have none of those things,” Clarke says. “We don’t need them. It’s a nice ghost. Or sentience.” The house does the happier groan again.

“This is the creepiest thing I’ve ever seen,” Octavia says, delighted.

“We’re all going to die,” Raven says again.

“If we find a weird undiscovered basement, no one touch anything,” Lincoln says. Everyone pauses for a moment.

“Cabin in the Woods, nice,” Clarke says, and Lincoln gives her a nod.

“Should we be discussing this in hearing distance of the house? I don’t want to give it ideas,” Bellamy says cautiously. Clarke snorts.

“Alright, we’re going in,” Clarke decides. She moves to step forward, but Bellamy grabs her shoulder, holding her back.

“Should the cripple really go in first?” Bellamy asks. “It’s not exactly like you can run away.”

“Well this way I won’t slow anyone down during the turn and run,” Clarke argues. “And it’s my weird possibly sentient murder house and I’m going in first.” This time he doesn’t hold her back.

 

They’re all following her in, and are making slow process because of her crutches. But the slowness also feels like a necessary precaution too. Once they cross the threshold, no one speaks, all looking around and moving further and further into the house. Bellamy makes a noise of complaint, and the group turns to look at him. He points down sadly.

“The floors. They’re going to need to be sanded again,” Bellamy whispers. Octavia hits him, and he stumbles against a wall, but he rebounds quickly, and they all stare at the wall for a moment, until they are satisfied it’s not going to move.

“Should we split up?” Octavia asks. “Cover more ground, maximise survivors?” Raven and Clarke give her matching looks of horror.

“Have you never seen horror movie?” Raven hisses. “That’s like rule number one: never split up.”

“There are rules?” Octavia whispers.

“Of course there are rules,” Clarke says, turning back to the hallway, moving closer to the kitchen. “Never get naked, don’t lose your virginity, never run up the stairs, don’t lock the door until you’re sure you’re alone, never hide anywhere without an alternate exit,” she lists quietly.

“Listen to the sassy best friend,” Raven adds. “When shit gets creepy, GTFO. If the holy water sizzles, you’re haunted fo shizzle.” Clarke laughs at that, and everyone shushes her insistently.

“Why are we even whispering. If the house is sentient it can hear us anyway?” Clarke says at normal volume, which feels weirdly loud.

“Whispering just felt appropriate,” Bellamy replies, looking into the room on his left. He stands still for a moment, and then walks into the room with purpose. “Holy shit.”

“What?” Raven demands, pushing after him, followed by Octavia. Lincoln politely waits for Clarke to make her way into the room, and she nods her thanks as she passes him. All three are staring at the wall.

“Holy shit,” Bellamy repeats. “Clarke, did you… did you do this?” he asks softly, turning to look at her. She smiles awkwardly, embarrassed, and nods.

“Yeah, I… This was my idea,” Clarke says to Raven. “What makes me happy.” She’d painted a garden: a large tree in the centre, swirls of green for grass with bright pops of colour for flowers, and a brilliant blue sky that hinted at sunset. It was the garden she remembered with her father, not the one she actually had, of course, just a child’s memory.

“Que chingados, Clarke. How did I not know you could do this?” Raven asks softly, still looking at the wall.

“I never had time when I was a doctor,” Clarke says simply. “And now I do.” The moment drags on a little longer. “But we are kind of meant to be ghost busting here. Not doing art appreciation.”

“Well it’s a lot to appreciate,” Octavia says in her defense. “You’re like, really fucking talented.” Lincoln hums his agreement, but Bellamy just keeps staring at the wall.

 

And then the door to the room closes without any warning. They all stare at the door for a moment.

“That was the wind, right?” Raven asks. “Did we leave the front door open?”

“I closed it,” Lincoln says. Everyone stares at him. “The front door. Not this one. I did not touch that door.”

“Oh my god, this is a legit haunting,” Octavia says with barely contained glee. Bellamy looks at Clarke horrified.

“We’re going to die in your weird murder house,” Bellamy says. “I’m not blaming you or anything, but this is probably your fault.”

“How is this my fault? You volunteered!” Clarke snaps back.

“Yeah, because you-,” Bellamy begins, and then he catches himself. Octavia looks like she’s about to explode with glee. “You sprained your leg,” he finishes, pointing at her ankle. “You require assistance.”

“If you really had a problem, I’m pretty sure Lincoln could lift me,” Clarke replies.

“I’m just trying to be helpful here,” Bellamy says. “And we’re about to die! I’m not exactly thinking clearly.”

“If you two could stop flirting for thirty seconds, someone needs to try the door handle,” Raven cuts in. Clarke thinks about arguing with her, but changes her mind.

“Should we… ask the house who it wants to open the door? Or is that pushing it too far?” Clarke asks.

“This is the strangest thing that has ever happened to me,” Lincoln says. “And I did peyote once.” There is a beat of silence as they all process this new information. The house groans, discontent. Clarke swallows thickly.

“Couldn’t hurt,” Bellamy offers.

“Uh, House? Can we open this door?” Clarke asks, awkwardly. The house says nothing. “Right,” Clarke says, and then she maneuvers herself forward and turns the knob. Except, it doesn’t turn. “Fuck.” Everyone stands perfectly still.

“The house sounded happy when it heard Octavia was coming?” Raven suggests. Octavia’s eyes widen.

“Worth a try,” Clarke agrees, and steps out of the way to let Octavia try to turn the handle. It still doesn’t turn.

“We’re going to die,” Raven says.

“There’s still a window,” Lincoln points out.

“Raven’s right,” Bellamy says.

“Or, you know, I haven’t fixed this door yet. It’s on the list,” Clarke offers. Everyone looks at her blankly for a moment.

“You could have led with that, Jesus, Clarke,” Bellamy says, stepping in front of Octavia to get to the door. He uses the side of his fist to punch the door handle, and presses his weight into the door as he turns the handle. The door swings open and there is a collective sigh of relief. Bellamy gives Clarke a meaningful look.

“Alright, it’s next on my list, I swear,” she says defensively. “Come on, the action happened in the kitchen.”

 

No one wants to go in, and they’re clustered around the kitchen door, staring in. It’s a weirdly shaped room, so they can’t see much without stepping in past the pantry, so they’re kind of staring at Clarke’s refrigerator.

“What if this is a ‘Housebound’ situation? Dude in the walls from that weird New Zealand movie,” Raven offers. Clarke considers it with a couple of nods.

“Secret housemate. I could live with it,” Clarke says. “Besides, that dude was pretty cool. He looked after the people and killed the evil psychiatrist. Which, you know, all psychiatrists are evil.”

“You guys watch way too many horror movies. Especially for someone who literally bought and lives in a weird murder house,” Bellamy informs them.

“Word,” agrees Octavia. Lincoln sighs, and Clarke’s not exactly sure what that means.

“Dude who lives in the walls? We’re willing to be friends?” Raven calls out. It’s followed by a very pregnant pause as they wait for a response. Nothing. Raven shrugs. “Worth a try,” she says. “Are we going into the kit- que chingados!” she yells as something unidentified drops from the ceiling onto the floor and the whole house groans loudly.

“Time to bail!” Bellamy yells and loops his arms around Clarke’s waist, dragging her backwards. Raven’s already made it half way down the hallway and Lincoln’s thrown Octavia over his shoulder and is hot on Raven’s heels.

“Guys! Hold on,” Clarke yells, trying to get free of Bellamy’s hold. “Look!” She points to shape on the kitchen floor, which has started to move. Bellamy lets her go and looks over her shoulder, and the others pause in the hallway, Octavia still struggling to get free of Lincoln’s hold.

“It’s a possum,” Clarke says. “It’s a fucking possum.” And then she starts to laugh. She’s being haunted by a fucking possum. Her stomach hurts and she drops to the floor still laughing, Bellamy’s not far behind her.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Raven says, storming down the hallway. Lincoln puts Octavia down and they make their way after Raven.

“A mother-fucking possum,” Octavia says disgustedly. “This is incredibly disappointing. Why is this so funny?”

“I sprained my ankle running away from a possum,” Clarke manages through her laughter. Tears were streaming down her face. “A fucking possum.” Raven starts to laugh too.

“The weird murder house has a possum,” Raven manages before she collapses too. “Of all the…”

“You people are insane. It’s gross. Get an exterminator for your weird murder house,” Octavia tells them before storming off, as though offended the house wasn’t actually haunted.

  


An hour later, Bellamy and Clarke wave Raven off, sitting on the front steps, and watch as she drives away.

“Do you think people are ever going to stop calling it the weird murder house?” Clarke asks, speculative.

“People don’t really call it that anymore. It’s just ‘Clarke’s house’,” Bellamy admits. “Except your friends.” Clarke snorts.

“I have weird friends,” she says. And then she turns to look at Bellamy, who’s already looking at her. “But I like them.” He smirks at her.

“Yeah, they like you too,” he says. And then he scratches the back of his neck. Nervous tick, Clarke thinks. “They, uh, they also really like your mural.” Clarke raises her eyebrows.

“Oh, do they?” she asks. “Because I haven’t exactly instagrammed it.” He knocks her shoulder with his. Clarke rolls her eyes. “Go get me a beer. It’s in the vegetable crisper.” He stands up and gives her an unimpressed look.

“Shouldn’t there be vegetables in the vegetable crisper?” Bellamy asks. Clarke rolls her eyes.

“Do you want a beer or not, asshole?” Clarke challenges and he laughs and goes into the house to get them.

 

He hands her the opened beer and sits down beside her again.

“You’ve done a pretty amazing job with this house. For a novice,” Bellamy says, but it sounds like something to say, not what he means to say. Clarke shrugs.

“I’ve had good advice. And youtube. But, I’ve been meaning to ask… what were you doing last night when you found me?” she asks. He scratches the back of his neck again.

“You’re kind of isolated out here in your weird murder house, and I don’t sleep well when the house is empty,” Bellamy says, looking at his feet. Clarke smiles.

“You were checking up on me. Octavia was right, you do care,” she says, and there’s just enough teasing in her voice that they can pretend it isn’t happening, dial it back and it would be like it never existed. He huffs out a laugh.

“Of course I care, Clarke. You’re kind of… you,” he says. Clarke takes a sip of her beer.

“That was eloquent,” she comments.

“God, why do I even like you? You’re such an asshole,” Bellamy says, wonderingly. Clarke laughs.

“Back at you,” she says. He smirks at her.

“So you were talking about me with Octavia, huh?” he asks, leering, and she laughs again.

“Girl’s night,” Clarke says. “We were very drunk. But apparently you’re a sexually gifted Darcy. It was a very enlightening evening.” Bellamy grimaces.

“Do I want to know?” he asks. Clarke huffs out a laugh and shakes her head.

“Probably not. But you are not hurting for references for a good time,” Clarke tells him, leaning back on the stairs. It’s not the most comfortable, but her back aches from the crutches, and it’s nice to stretch out.

“You do realise I’m not just suggesting a good time, right?” Bellamy asks, his elbows still resting on his knees. “I’m… I mean, I want to… fuck. There’s a reason Darcy wrote a letter. This is fucking awkward.” Clarke laughs, and he gives her a pained look. “You’re not helping.”

“Why should I be helping? This is amazing,” Clarke says. “This is the least game I’ve ever witnessed. I’m actually impressed.” Bellamy scoffs.

“Asshole,” he says fondly, and then: “So, do you want to date me or not?” Clarke grins.

“Yeah, I’ll date you,” she agrees. “You are my knight in shining armour after all.” Bellamy laughs.

“I thought it was dented?” he asked. She sits up again and shrugs.

“My house was haunted by a possum instead of ghost. You just gotta take shit as it comes sometimes,” Clarke replies. She was going to say more, but Bellamy pressed his mouth to hers, running his free hand up into her hair, holding her to him.

 

Okay, so, full disclosure, it’s not exactly what she’d planned when she moved to the weird murder house by the lake. But all things considered, Clarke’s pretty happy with how it turned out.

 

**Author's Note:**

> [Find me on tumblr.]()
> 
>  
> 
> I don't really know what to say except that there should be more horror comedies. 
> 
> Movies referenced (some vaguely, some named), in the order I'm remembering them right now:  
> Housebound  
> The Amityville Horror  
> Scream  
> Final Destination  
> Tucker and Dale Vs Evil  
> Cabin in the Woods  
> House of Wax  
> Texas Chainsaw Massacre  
> Nightmare on Elm St (do not talk me about the remake. I cannot)  
> Skeleton Key  
> Darkness  
> The Ring  
> Monster House (yes I know that's a kid's one)  
> Scream
> 
> I'm really disappointed I didn't get to reference more zombie movies. And I missed out on a Friday the 13th reference, I mean, the lake was RIGHT THERE. I think that's all of them!


End file.
